


Faith and Detemination

by Reccea



Category: 1776 (1972), American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-14
Updated: 2010-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-12 16:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/126827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reccea/pseuds/Reccea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everyone likes a good agitator."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith and Detemination

Mere hours are left and still John Adams sits in the dark congress chamber. His eyes are locked onto the voting slate, squinting in the faint candlelight. Georgia is in the 'yea's now, has been for over an hour, but still John sits in the silence. Consumed by the 'nay' section.

Even if Jefferson reasons with Rutledge. Even if the south concedes to independence. Even if he compromises… there's still Dickinson to deal with. There's a revolution hanging on these votes and John Adams can't help but think it **will** be hanging tomorrow. Dead before it has a chance to be born.

"John?" Thomas's voice is low, soft with concern.

John turns then, away from the slate and the small calendar, towards the voice. Jefferson is in the doorway, his tall, thin body hallowed in lamplight from the hall. "You're supposed to be convincing Rutledge." John looks disgruntled, feels it as well.

"John." And this time it's a stronger voice, commanding. Possibly pitying, which grates a little. Though Thomas doesn't need to say anything else, they both knew Rutledge wouldn't be moved. Both knew it was a futile effort.

John sighs quietly, feeling the weight of these last few months tumbling down on him. To be so close and to fail so utterly. "Did you try at least?"

"Of course, John." Thomas steps further into the chamber and John can finally get a decent look at him. His cravat is loose, his jacket gone, a concession to the humid heat of these late hours. His hair is no longer back in a perfect tail. He looks better now, more relaxed in this near morning darkness, then he does normally in this chamber. He looks more like himself.

"Where did you find him?" John can't stop talking about Rutledge, can't stop thinking about this obsession that's worn at his every waking hour for what feels like years now.

"He was down at the local tavern, along with most everyone." Thomas is still approaching, taking his time. It was his way to do such things. Always unhurried in everything, even when a fast pace is demanded. "You've got them all drinking, you should find that encouraging at least." Slight smile in the flickering light.

"Nothing is encouraging, anymore." John turns back to the voting slate, back to the calendar.

"I see Georgia has changed his mind." Thomas is at his shoulder, blocking some of the candlelight. Though the candle next to John is ever vigilant.

"Not that it matters." John shrugs. It's a petulant thing to say but somehow he didn't sound petulant. He sounds resigned. Maybe, for all his bravado, he is resigned.

"I'm almost worried about you, John." Thomas reaches out, squeezes John's shoulder. There's comfort in the touch, comfort in the concerned voice.

"We're just so close." It's a whisper, frustrated and defeated.

"We have tomorrow."

"No." John glances at the date hanging on the wall. "We don't."

Thomas steps away and over to the slate. He runs his large, slim hand across the panels, fingering the initials. Then he turns, leans against the wall, and looks closely at John. His discerning gaze makes John feel a little uncomfortable, a little lacking somehow. In ways he can't quite explain. "Where's that famous Adams's determination, John?" One reddish-brown eyebrow is quirked up. A smile seems to be lurking just behind Jefferson's lips. "You can't be giving up hope now."

"Do you see anyway out of this?" John scowls.

"No," Thomas allows with a slight bow of the head. "But that doesn't mean there isn't one." He looks back up, meeting John's eyes. "Are you going to sit in here and worry the night away?"

"I can't think of anything else to do." John fingers the jacket lying in his lap.

"You could try and get some sleep." The smile is genuine, encouraging. But somehow it makes John even more uneasy. It used to be a code between them, something to say in polite company, so that no one would suspect. But things have been different for a while now, ever since Martha's visit. And even John's adamant defense of Thomas's declaration hadn't eased the tension. Hadn't changed the facts.

"I don't think I'll be able to sleep," John sets the jacket aside, though his fingers are still itching for something to touch. "My mind will be here all night, I might as well stay with it."

Something in Thomas's face changes slightly, a twinkle in his eye that wasn't there before. "If you spend all night worrying you won't have any patience left for tomorrow."

"And what do you expect me to do, Thomas?" John can't keep his frustration at bay, can't keep it locked up any longer. "What the hell can I do. The vote must be unanimous, and it never will be. Not even if the south turns our way."

"Trust Benjamin." Another encouraging smile. "He'll think of something. He is the brilliant one, after all."

"You're the brilliant one," John snorts.

Thomas smiles broadly at that. Actually made happy by the compliment. And John thinks that he should compliment Jefferson more, if just to see that smile.

"It'll be you, Franklin, Washington and the horse," he grumbles under his breath. At the confused look John just shakes his head. "Never mind."

"You're the determined one. You're the one with commitment." Thomas takes a small step forward, gracefully nearing the president's desk where John sits.

"I'm the agitator."

"Everyone likes a good agitator." The kiss is quick, soft, barely there. John finds himself leaning in, hoping to continue it.

But all he gets is the back of Thomas's hand caressing the side of his face. A knowing grin on Thomas's lips. It's all John can do to not scream in frustration. To not rail against the fates. To not curse God, the way he has been for days now.

"John?" The hand has reached his chin and tipped it up slightly so that once again his eyes are locked with Thomas's.

"Yes." Soft whisper, filled with too many emotions to count.

"When's the last time you honestly slept?" Gentle stroke of a thumb against his bottom lip.

"I can't really remember," he admits.

Thomas's other hand reaches out and locks onto John's coat. "Let's go then. I'm sure your rooms need a little bit of living in. I know you need rest." The candle to John's left is snuffed out with a small pinch of Thomas's fingers. John's face feels a little bereft from the loss of those fingers.

There's only one candle now, only the smallest of light flickering across Thomas's well-formed features. John used to question it, wonder why someone as stunning as Thomas would find something of interest in him. But the attractions of the mind, it seems, lend themselves over to the body. And differences, however slight, can be pleasing.

"John." This time, maybe for the first time, Thomas is pleading. John can't decide if he likes it or not. But one hand slips into his, tugs him from his perch and John slides off the desk to stand on the floor. "We have tomorrow."

"Right." John follows Thomas's lead, though their hands fall to their sides. The closeness of their bodies must be enough until they secure more privacy.

Thomas reaches out and snuffs the last candle flame. The congress chamber dips finally into darkness. As they reach the edge of the chamber, and Thomas shuts the doors behind them, he whispers in John's ear, "Have a little faith."

The smile that comes to John Adams's lips is unbidden. But it stays there until daylight.


End file.
